


our ghost

by spinnerofyarns



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Suicide, but he comes back to life so does it really count?, partially deceased Jared
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 03:18:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7558123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinnerofyarns/pseuds/spinnerofyarns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Donald Dunn kills himself but is resurrected because whoever runs the afterlife isn't big on leaving "soulmate imbalances" and Donald's soulmate is still alive.</p><p>Sort of an AU where Donald/Jared is actually undead (temporarily at least)</p><p>Lots of sadness now but lots of smooching later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry
> 
> Hey! If you're reading this and/or if you've ever enjoyed anything I've written, I hope you'll consider participating in the SV fan fundraiser for CAIR and the ACLU. You can donate anytime between now and March 15, and any little bit helps! Go here for more info: https://svagainsttyranny.tumblr.com/

            Donald Dunn’s hands were shaking so badly that it took him 3 tries to unlock the door to his apartment. This wasn’t unusual – he had started trembling around the 50-hour sleep deprivation mark, sometime the previous morning.

            And all of that time had essentially been wasted when his boss had decided not to buy the company Donald had so painstakingly researched, simply because they dared to have _non-vegan snacks_ in the office.

            Donald shrugged off his jacket as he went, hanging it on a hook by the door. He collapsed on the couch, groaning. It was 3 AM, and he would have to be up at 7 for work. He tried to analyze the situation and verbally SWOT the idea of trying to sleep, but his brain was too exhausted to process anything.

            “Useless,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. “Pathetic fuckup.”

            He wouldn’t be able to get to sleep without a sleeping pill anyway, and if he took one he would sleep for 10 hours whether he wanted to or not.

            But was there even a point in going back to work? If his boss kept acting this way – completely disregarding all of his hard work for an impulsive decision – what was the point of even doing it to begin with? What was the point of showing up for work every day? What was the point of even _staying alive_?

            _So kill yourself,_ he thought. _Nobody will miss you anyway._

            Donald wasn’t quite sure how a bottle of vodka had ended up in his kitchen, given that it wasn’t even gluten-free, but he was glad to see it. He had counted the pills left in this month’s sedative prescription, and if he washed them down with a good dose of alcohol, that would almost definitely be enough to kill him. Plus, since he lived alone – unloved, pathetic weirdo that he was – there was no risk of anyone finding him and calling 911 for _days_.

            Meticulous to the last, Donald swallowed the pills one at a time, washing each one down with a swig from the neck of the bottle. After swallowing the last one, he finished off the bottle, and then stretched out on the couch and waited for eternal sleep to claim him.


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which it turns out the afterlife is actually run like a normal company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The best part of writing this fic is getting to decide how undeath works in this universe.

            The first thing Donald saw was a bright, eye searing light. He cringed and squinted, trying to see anything through the glow.

            “Donald Dunn?” asked a voice from somewhere in the light.

            “Wh – I – yes? Hello? God?” Donald stammered.

            The voice chuckled. “What, you think the boss would come down here just for your sorry ass? Nah, I’m Pete. Human resources.” Now Donald could make out the silhouette of someone standing in front of him. He blinked, and a short – well, shorter than Donald, which wasn’t really saying much – blond man came into focus.

            “Hi Pete. I’m – well, I guess you know who I am.”

            “Yep. Donald Dunn, 27 years old, suicide, is that right?” Pete checked a file. Donald nodded, fidgeting with his hands.

            “Okay, Donald, follow me,” Pete said. Donald followed him into what looked like a conference room. There were more files spread out on the table. Pete sat down, and after a moment’s hesitation Donald did the same.

            “Donald,” Pete began, opening the file again, “it says here your overdose was an impulsive decision…”

            “Not really,” Donald said. “I mean…there should be a record of attempts in there…”

            “Yes, but the last one was six years ago,” Pete said. “So Donald…why?”

            “Because…because I was sick of being alive.” This was beginning to feel a lot like therapy.

            “Sick of what, specifically?”

            “Everything. Being alone. Unloved. Unappreciated. Pitied. All of it.” Donald wrapped his arms around himself and hunched over in his chair.

            Pete looked at the file again. “Ah yes, it says here you never met your soulmate…”

            “No need to rub it in.”

            “Oh, and he’s still alive. Tsk tsk. We don’t like leaving soulmate imbalances, Donald. I’m afraid this calls for a reanimation agreement.”

            “A – what? Sorry?”

            “You will be…essentially reanimated, and given a second chance. If you find your soulmate within 3 years, you will be fully revived and allowed to live out the rest of your previously intended lifespan. If not, you will die.”

            “Wait…wait, sorry, what? I’m not dead now?” Donald asked, thoroughly confused.

            “Right now you’re in limbo. And you’ll stay in limbo until you find your soulmate…or until your time runs out. I have a pamphlet here that should explain things a bit more clearly.” Pete handed Donald the pamphlet, a garish thing bedecked in neon text, all-caps, and a truly shocking number of exclamation points.

            Pete caught Donald cringing. “Yeah, it hasn’t been updated since the late 80s.” He shrugged. “What can I say/ We don’t see many like you anymore. Why don’t you give that a read, I’ll just pop out for a sec, and when I come back we can handle your paperwork.”

            Donald obediently unfolded the pamphlet.

            _SO YOU’VE BEEN REANIMATED!_ It read in vivid pink letters over a cartoon of a garishly smiling person. Donald grimaced and read on.

            **_What is a reanimation agreement, anyway?_** _Your body temporarily becomes fully functionally animate (to an extent) to allow you to finish whatever task you didn’t get to complete in your life. If you complete this task within a given time frame – most commonly 3 years – you become fully living and get to live out the rest of your predetermined life span._

            Donald bit his lip and read on, to the FAQ section

            **_What happens if I don’t complete my task?_** _We don’t like to think about that, so let’s just call it disintegration._

_**What do you mean, to an extent?** Here’s what your body can do: walk, talk, think, speak, feel, and do most things a regular human can._

_Here’s what it doesn’t need to do: eat, sleep, have a heartbeat, drink, digest, or circulate blood. But these are mostly things you didn’t think about before anyway!_

_Breathing is iffy – you don’t technically need to do it but it can’t hurt._

Donald rolled his eyes as he refolded the pamphlet. It reminded him of all the useless ones he’d been handed and told to read during his years in foster care.

Pete stuck his head back into the room. “You ready for me, Donald?”

“What? Oh, yes, I suppose,” Donald said, startled.

Pete came in and dropped a stack of papers on the table with a loud thump. Donald flinched a little at the noise.

“Sorry,” Pete said, sliding what looked like a contract across the table to him. “Okay, read through that, sign by the blue flags and initial by the pink ones, and you’re good to go!”

Donald read through the papers quickly – speed-reading was a skill he’d picked up in college, trying to fit 2 semesters’ worth of credits into one while working a part-time job at the campus library – and signed and initialed as necessary.

“And, you’re done! Any questions?”

“Just one,” Donald fidgeted with his sleeves again. “How am I supposed to find my soulmate? Can I at least get a name, or something?”

“Can’t tell you that, I’m afraid, but I can tell you it’s a guy,” _Well, yes,_ Donald thought, _given that I’m gay that should be obvious_ , “and he works for a tech company out in Palo Alto, California. Something called…” Pete squinted at the paper in front of him, “Hooli. Weirs name, but then again what do I know, I’m not exactly techy. Anyway, best of luck, Donald!” He left the room, and shortly thereafter, Donald blacked out.

He woke up on his couch, still in his work clothes. Groaning, he got up and shuffled to the bathroom to wash up and put…whatever that had been (a bad drug trip?) out of his mind.

The first thing he noticed was that he couldn’t feel the temperature of the water as precisely as usual. _Probably some sort of neuropathy from the overdose_ , he decided, bending to wash his face.

The second surprise was when he looked in the mirror. His skin – already quite pale – had taken on an odd gray-blue tinge, and his eyes, once the same blue as his mother’s, were gray, as though they’d faded. Shakily, he raised a hand and placed it on his chest, over his heart.

Nothing. Not even the softest beat.

“What. The. Fuck?” Donald whispered, staring wide-eyed at his ghostly reflection.


	3. Chapter 2

Over the course of the next two weeks, Donald quit his job, packed up his apartment – not that there was much to pack, 5 years of his life fit into 3 boxes and a large suitcase – and applied for a job in Human Resources at Hooli. He figured that would be the best way to find his soulmate.

He started wearing makeup – just foundation and powder – to hide the disturbing pallor of his skin. Corpses don’t generally get – or, more importantly, keep – HR jobs, or any jobs at all.

As soon as he got the email telling him that he had the job, he booked a hotel room in Palo Alto for a few weeks – to give himself time to find a decent place to live – and drove west. His new reanimated flesh vessel didn’t need sleep, or food, or bathroom breaks, so he made the trip in record time.

The night before starting his job, he read everything he could find about Hooli and about Gavin Belson. For a brief while, he thought that maybe Gavin was his soulmate. That would make things nice and uncomplicated (besides the whole soulmates-with-his-boss thing, but he’d cross that bridge when he came to it).

 _How will I even know who my soulmate is?_ Donald wondered on his drive to work.

As if he had asked it aloud, Pete-from-HR suddenly responded via the car radio, cutting across the Sara McLachlan song Donald was playing to soothe his nerves. “Trust me, you’ll know. People have described a sort of…heart-skipping feeling, it’s hard to miss.”

Donald nearly crashed the car in his surprise. “How are you doing that?”

Pete chuckled. “What, you think someone who works in afterlife HR can’t reach the world of the living? Anyway, good luck, Donald.”

“Wait! What do you mean, heart-skipping? I don’t even have a heartbeat, how is that supposed to work?”

Silence. Donald sighed as he pulled into the Hooli parking lot. Of course it couldn’t be that easy.

*   *   *

Before starting his job, Donald had to meet with Gavin Belson.

“Gavin likes to meet and get to know all the new HR representatives on their first day,” the woman showing him around – a bubbly redhead named Patrice – explained.

Donald bit his lip and fidgeted with his fleece vest. “Ok,” he said.

“Just have a seat here, he’ll be out in a minute.” Patrice deposited Donald on an uncomfortable couch and knocked on Gavin’s office door. “Gavin, the new HR hire is here!”

After about a minute, the door opened and Gavin Belson came out. Donald jumped up and adjusted his vest again.

“Is this him?” Gavin asked. Patrice nodded.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr Belson,” Donald said, extending a shaky hand. “I’m Donald Dunn.”

Gavin shook Donald’s hand and made a face. “Donald? No. Terrible name. You’re Jared.”

“I – sorry?” Donald stammered.

Patrice gave him a look that said “Don’t question it.”

“Well, Jared,” Gavin said, “I hope you have a good time working at Hooli. Best of luck.”

And with that, he walked off, leaving Donald – Jared? – standing there confused.

“Isn’t he amazing?” Patrice said, awestruck.

Donald wasn’t sure “amazing” was the right word.

“Well, anyway, Jared,” Patrice said, “how about I show you your office?”

Donald nodded and followed her, resigning himself to the idea of being Jared.

*   *   *

Donald – now Jared – had been working at Hooli for 2 years when he discovered Richard Hendricks’s compression algorithm. After a few awkward attempts, he’d given up on finding his soulmate and reigned himself to waiting out the remainder of the time until he disintegrated.

And then Gavin scheduled a meeting with the genius behind the algorithm, and Jared found himself sitting across from a short-ish (or at least, short by comparison to his freakish giraffe body) curly-haired redhead who was fidgeting anxiously with his sweater.

And suddenly Jared knew _exactly_ what Pete had meant by “heart-skipping”. It was like a strange sort of tug in his ribcage, as though his frozen heart was slowly starting up again.

 _Shit. Fuck. Why now? Why him?_ Jared thought, but did not say.

 _Because the laws of soulmates work in mysterious ways. I don’t know._ Pete’s voice sounded in his head, as clearly as if he’d been standing right next to Jared.

Jared nearly flinched, but maintained his composure, extending a hand for Richard to shake. “Jared Dunn, pleasure to meet you.” To Pete, he very aggressively thought, _You need to stop doing that._

_Sorry. Anyway, that’s your guy. Go get him._

_Haven’t I already got him?_ Jared thought as he led Richard into Gavin’s office.

_Nope. It was in the fine print, you need to get a kiss from him._

Jared almost choked, but disguised it as a cough when Richard and Gavin looked at him.

*   *   *

“What do you mean, I need a kiss?” Jared asked, sitting in his car trying to work up the nerve to get out and knock on Richard’s door.

“It was in the fine print,” Pete said through his radio. “You’ll only be resurrected if you get a kiss from your soulmate before the three year time limit runs out. And you’re cutting it close, you’ve only got one year left to do it.”

“Yes, I’m aware,” Jared sighed.

“You _did_ read the the contract, didn’t you?” Pete asked, suspicious.

“Of course I did. I just…forgot about that bit.” Jared said.

“Okay then. Good luck.” Pete said.

Jared sighed and grabbed the bottle of champagne he’d bought for Richard. He got out of his car and walked up the driveway to knock on the door.

*   *   *

Later that night, lying in bed, Jared wondered why he cared so much about this whole soulmate thing anyway. He’d wanted to die when he took those pills, so what was so wrong with just waiting out the remaining year and disintegrating quietly and peacefully? Nobody would miss him, that was certain.

But, he thought as he stared at the ceiling, at this point he would feel like a failure if he didn’t accomplish his goal, especially given how close he was.

Then again, given how Richard hadn’t stepped in when Erlich was chewing Jared out, maybe he wasn’t actually that close. Maybe Pete from HR was sending him on some sort of wild goose chase for his own sick amusement.

He was just thinking about punching Pete in the face when his phone rang. The voice on the other line was unmistakably Richard’s.

“Jared, I need your help.”

Jared was dressed and out the door 3 minutes after that.


	4. Chapter 3

They spent hours putting together all the necessary paperwork for Pied Piper. The sun was just coming up, tinting the sky a soft pink, when Richard signed the last form, dropped the pen, and stretched his arms, his fingertips brushing the underside of his loft bed.

He looked at Jared, blinking sleep out of his eyes. “Could you stick around?” he asked.

If Jared’s heart had been working it would have leapt into his throat. “For a few more hours? Of course.”

“No, I mean…I just mean there’ll be more stuff like this, more business type stuff that I don’t know how to deal with, no matter how easy everyone insists that it is.”

 _It’s not easy_ , Jared thought, _if it were easy I wouldn’t have thousands of dollars of student debt over my head right now for all those years of trying to learn this bullshit_.

“But you really seem to have a handle on it,” Richard continued. “I’ve made more progress since you’ve been here than I have in the past few days.”

It had been a really long time since someone praised Jared’s work that way and he found himself at a loss for words. “I really do think you have a great vision here,” he finally said, not really looking at Richard.

Clearly it had been a while since someone praised Richard as well, because his response was “You do?”

“You took a big risk for what you thought was right.” Something Jared wished he’d had the balls to do when he was alive.

“Yeah, well, so far everyone just likes reminding me that I walked away from ten million dollars.”

“You walked away from the money for an amazing idea. I know you’ll be successful.” It was true – Richard’s idea was brilliant.

“I definitely will if you stay.”

Jared blinked a few times, processing this information. “I want to, but Erlich said – “

“Erlich isn’t the CEO of Pied Piper, I am, and I’m telling you that if you’re interested, you’ve got the job.”

Jared wanted to jump for joy but several things prevented him from doing that, not the least of which was the fact that he couldn’t even stand up in the space under Richard’s bed. Instead he excused himself to go to the bathroom.

He obviously didn’t need to, given that his flesh vessel didn’t have any of the usual human bodily processes going on, but he took the time to splash some cold water on his face and collect his thoughts.

“Take the job, you moron.” Pete from HR was back. “It’s your best shot of getting a kiss.”

“Yes, because kissing my boss obviously won’t cause _any_ problems _at all_.” Jared muttered.

“Look, do you want to be alive or not?” Pete asked.

Jared blinked. He wasn’t quite sure, if he was being honest with himself.

*   *   *

But in the end he took the job, partially because he didn’t want to give up when he was so close and partially because working for Gavin was wreaking havoc on what little self-esteem he had left. And even though he had to sell his condo and move into the garage – well, server room – and spend hours cleaning up the mess everyone had made of this business, it was worth it.

It was worth it for the grateful look in Richard’s eyes when Jared swooped in to prevent him from making a serious business mistake – or, more often, to control the destruction from his latest fuckup. It was worth it for the loud explosive joy that filled the incubator when Richard told everyone that Peter Gregory was funding them. It was worth it for the knowledge that they were doing something world-changing.

And then came the self-driving car and the scary robot island.

When Jared finally got back to the incubator, blurry and exhausted even though he didn’t actually need sleep, Richard was still awake, working at his computer. He looked up as Jared collapsed on the couch with a groan.

“Jared? Where were you?” he asked. “Are you okay?”

 _Not really._ Jared thought. “Yes, fine, don’t worry,” he said.

“Where the hell were you?”

“Trapped on Peter Gregory’s island. It’s a long story.”

“Well…we missed you around here.” Richard said. “Well, I missed you.”

Jared lived on that for days, until the night after their big victory at TechCrunch.

*   *   *

The afterparty had wound down by the time Jared found himself next to Richard on the couch in their hotel suite. Richard was more than a bit tipsy, and so exhausted that he was practically falling asleep on his feet when Jared gently pulled him down onto the couch.

“Richard, you need to sleep,” Jared said. “You’ve had a really rough couple of days, you need to get a good night’s sleep.”

“I’ll sleep later,” Richard slurred. “We won, Jared. We _fucking won_!”

“Yes, and I’m so proud of you, but shhhh,” Jared gestured to the sleeping – or possibly just unconscious – forms of Dinesh and Gilfoyle sprawled out on the carpet. Erlich was nowhere to be found, probably off partying elsewhere.

“Fifty thousand dollars, Jared. Fifty fucking thousand _fucking_ dollars. And did you see that _look_ on Gavin Belson’s fucking face? Priceless. Oh, this was great.” Richard flopped over sideways on the couch, leaning against Jared. “This is great. Today was great.”

“Do you want some water?” Jared asked. Richard seemed really drunk.

“Mm. Yeah. Maybe.”

“Okay, I’m just going to get you a glass of water. I’ll be right back.” Jared stood up and Richard flopped into a half-lying position on the couch.

“Mm.”

Jared found a glass in the bathroom, filled it with water from the tap, and returned to the couch. Richard sat up clumsily when he saw him.

“Thanks,” he said when Jared handed him the water, and downed the entire glass in several large gulps.

Jared took the empty glass, placed it on the coffee table, and was just sitting down on the couch again when Richard grabbed his shoulders.

“Richard, what’s – “ Jared began, but was cut off when Richard kissed him.

It was a clumsy, awkward, clearly impulsive kiss. Richard’s lips were chapped and warm and his mouth tasted like Red Bull and vodka (Jared was going to have a serious talk with whoever had allowed Richard to drink that, he wasn’t in college anymore, his system really shouldn’t have to handle that combination).

But most importantly, Jared felt Richard’s warmth spread from his lips to the rest of his body. When Richard came up for air, Jared gasped as he felt his heart jump, and then jump again, and then slowly, haltingly, stutteringly start to beat.

“Oh,” he said, not quite sure what else to say.

 “Was that bad?” Richard asked.

“I – no. It’s not you. It’s just…wow. This…wasn’t what I expected.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, no, no,” Jared was quick to reassure Richard. “It’s not you. It’s just…oh gosh, I love you.”

“Yeah, well, um. I was kinda hoping for that.” Richard fiddled with the string on his hoodie, his face a shocking pink. “Because, um…Iloveyoutoo.” He said it in a rush.

Jared stared at him. “Oh.” And then, “Oh!”

“And um, this isn’t the vodka talking. Well, it’s the vodka giving me the balls to talk but I’ve loved you for a really long time. Since that night when I called you and you came over and helped me.” Richard had been staring at the carpet to avoid eye contact but now he looked directly into Jared’s eyes.

“Oh,” Jared said again. “Richard, I…” He couldn’t think of anything to say, so instead he gently took Richard’s face in his hands and kissed him again, slowly, gently.

When they broke apart again, he suddenly realized how exhausted and hungry he actually was. Well, that was the result of not eating or sleeping for nearly three years, he supposed.

“I’m starving,” Richard said suddenly. “I get like…munchies when I’m drunk. Drunchies. I dunno. Do you want to order room service or something?”

 _God, yes_ , Jared thought. “Sure,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's going to be at least one more chapter of these two figuring out their lives together (and Jared figuring out what to do with Pete from HR)
> 
> (Also drunchies are totally a thing. I once ate 3 huge falafel pitas in a row while drunk. The falafel place on campus probably knows me as "that tiny alcoholic weirdo" to this day)


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Richard fell asleep first, the combination of alcohol and what must have been his first full meal in days making him sleepy and loose-limbed. Jared soon followed suit, his body desperate to make up the massive sleep debt he’d incurred over the past two and a half years. As he drifted off, he thought about how nice it was to be falling asleep warm and safe, with a full stomach, next to his soulmate.  

He found himself in the same conference room where he’d signed his reanimation agreement. Pete was sitting across the table from him with another contract.

“Well, Donald,” he said. “I believe congratulations are in order.”

Jared nodded shakily, still not used to his living, breathing, functional body. “So…I’m free?” he asked.

Pete laughed. “Well, you aren’t going to live forever, but your predetermined lifespan is pretty lengthy. You’ve got some great years ahead of you, Donald. There’s just one more form I need you to sign.” He slid the paper and pen across the table to Jared.

Jared read through the contract thoroughly, not about to get stuck in fine print again. It seemed pretty good – he’d get to live out the rest of his life without worrying about any problems. He had just one question. “If…If Richard leaves me, or if we wake up tomorrow and realize this was a huge mistake, will I…” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

Pete chuckled. “No, nope, definitely not. We have no claim on you for the rest of your life. Do whatever you want. But somehow I highly doubt that Richard will leave you.”

Despite himself, Jared felt a surge of warmth in his chest at these words.

He signed and initialed the contract as necessary and slid it back across the table to Pete, who picked it up and looked it over.

“Well, that seems to be in order. It was a pleasure working with you, Donald. And hey, out of curiosity, what are you going to do about the name?”

Jared mulled it over. “Keep it, I think. I like it.” It seemed appropriate, a new name for this new version of him.

Pete smiled. “Very well. Goodbye, Jared.”

*   *   *

When Jared woke up Richard was sitting on the couch next to him, wide awake, holding a cup of tea in his hands.

“Oh, good, you’re awake. You were really out of it, you slept for like 14 hours. Here, I got you tea,” he said, offering Jared the cup.

Jared blinked, rubbing his eyes with the hand not holding his tea. “Thanks, Richard,” he said softly. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

Richard tugged at the string of his hoodie. “I dunno. You looked so…peaceful. Plus I know you work like crazy so I thought you could probably use a good night’s rest. Erlich’s already gone home, he got impatient waiting for you, but we can take a bus or an Uber back.”

Jared took a sip of tea. “Okay, just give me a few minutes to get cleaned up.” His stomach growled, and he blushed. “And maybe we should get breakfast first. Or…lunch, I suppose,” he added, checking his watch.

Richard nodded. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

*   *   *

They ended up in a Japanese restaurant not far from the hotel, where Jared watched Richard fumble with his chopsticks for a few minutes in order to grab a single dumpling. It was, if he was honest, quite endearing.

“Here, Richard, watch. You need to grab the bottom one like this – yeah, that’s good, kind of like the way you’d hold a pen – and then hold the top one here, and move that, don’t move the bottom one. There you go, that’s perfect!” Jared smiled as Richard got a grip on the dumpling and maneuvered it into his mouth. He reached out and deftly grabbed one for himself.

“How did you get so good at this?” Richard asked, fumbling for a second dumpling.

“I lived in a year-round dorm at Vassar, and we’d have dorm-family dinners once a week, and a new person would cook each week. One of my neighbors was from Japan, and she’d always make something from home. I just felt awkward trying to eat gyoza with a fork when nearly everyone else was using chopsticks, so I…figured it out, I guess.” Jared shrugged. “I taught myself a lot of things, honestly,” he adds, almost as an afterthought.

 Richard smiled, grabbing another dumpling before nudging the plate towards Jared. “You’ve barely eaten any, come on, you must be starving.”

Jared obediently took another dumpling. Richard reached over and squeezed his hand briefly, lovingly.

 _You have some great years ahead of you_ , Pete had said. _Somehow I highly doubt that Richard will leave you._ Jared really, really hoped that he hadn’t been lying.

*   *   *

By the time they got back to the incubator, it was late afternoon. Gilfoyle, sprawled across the couch, looked up from his laptop when they entered.

“Shit, did you guys fuck _all day_?” he asked.

Jared and Richard both blushed, and Richard started stammering and mumbling something about Jared sleeping in. Gilfoyle stared, unblinking, until Richard petered out.

“You’re holding hands,” he said. “You could have at least _tried_ not to be obvious.”

Richard looked down at his hand, which was in fact holding Jared’s. Then he looked at Jared, pink with embarrassment and also looking down at his hand. They looked at each other, and decided not to let go.

            “Come on,” Richard said, leading Jared to his room. They climbed up onto his bed, and lay there for several minutes just holding each other and staring into each other’s eyes. Then, Richard awkwardly said “Do you want to…y’know, actually do – well – uh, what Gilfoyle assumes we’ve been doing all day anyway? Or at least try the kissing thing again, except sober this time?”

            “Only if you do,” Jared said. Richard responded by forcefully kissing Jared and reaching for the buttons of his shirt. Jared kissed back, just as aggressively, and reached for the hem of Richard’s hoodie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm working on an epilogue which I'll probably post very soon! Stay tuned for wholesome perfect Sweet Functional Husbands content!


	6. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go, some sweet dorky Jarrich content for you all, as a reward for sitting through this awful fic.

            Jared adjusted the strap of the canvas shopping bag on his shoulder and reached into his pocket for his keys. Before he’d even gotten them into the lock, however, the door swung open and a large slender elegant greyhound leapt out towards him.

            “Whoa, Lucky, calm down!” Jared laughed as Lucky jumped up to lick his face when he bent to pet her. Richard, standing behind Lucky in the doorway, reached for one of the bags on Jared’s shoulder. “Here, darling,” he said, “let me help you with that. It’s the least I can do, you left before I woke up.” He took the bag into the kitchen, Jared and Lucky following close behind, and set it on the counter. “I made lunch,” he added. “I finally figured out that spiralizer thing so I made…well, sort of fancy ramen but with zucchini noodles. It’s pretty good, I think. I know you like it spicy so I chopped some chilies for you to add, they’re in the fridge right now.”

            Jared set down his bag and kissed Richard on the cheek. “Thank you, sweetheart,” he said. “Let’s eat when I finish putting this stuff away, all right?”

            Richard nodded. “Let me help you,” he said, pulling groceries out of one of the bags. “Oh, good, you got more coffee, I used the last of it this morning.”

            “Richard,” Jared said, a mild scolding tone in his voice. “I thought we’d agreed, no more coffee on weekends.”

            “I know, I know, I’m sorry, I just stayed up way too late last night trying to add a new feature and I wanted to get some stuff done before you got back so I didn’t feel so lazy.”

            Jared stepped behind Richard and put his arms around his husband’s waist. “Richard, you know I wouldn’t have thought you were lazy,” he said, kissing the top of Richard’s head. “You need to take better care of yourself, you’re not 20 anymore.”

            Lucky, clearly jealous of the affection Richard was getting, nudged Jared’s leg with her nose and whined until he knelt on the floor to pet her and kiss the top of her head.

            “You’re the greatest dog in the world, Lucky,” he said. “You know that, right?”

            “And the neediest,” Richard added as Jared straightened up again. “I took her to the park and played with her this morning, _and_ cuddled with her on the couch for a full hour before you got home.”

            “I guess she missed me,” Jared said with a small smile. All of this – being missed, coming home to a cozy apartment where his loving husband had prepared an undoubtedly delicious meal, being _loved_ – was still so new to him, even though they’d been together for eight years and married for three. Sometimes he still pinched himself, just to make sure it wasn’t all some sort of bizarre dream caused by the overdose and he wasn’t about to wake up on his couch back in upstate New York, sick and disoriented and alone.

            “I missed you too,” Richard said, pouting.

            Jared kissed him again. “I was only gone for a few hours!”

            “Which is plenty of time for me to miss you, babe. Now, should I stick this in the fridge or do you want to make something with it today?” Richard asked, holding up a pack of tofu.

            “Fridge,” Jared said. “I’m making stir-fry for dinner tomorrow.”

            Richard put the tofu in the fridge and turned back to Jared. “Please don’t put sriracha in it this time,” he said pleadingly. “My stomach hurt for days after last time.”

            “I’m really sorry about that, honey,” Jared said, hugging Richard. “I thought I’d put a manageable amount in. I won’t add any this time, I promise.”       

            “Mmm. You’d better, or else I’ll vomit all over you in bed again.” Richard made a face.

            Jared smiled. “You know, I’ve had worse,” he said. “Vomit is…not the worst bodily fluid I’ve woken up covered in.” He cringed as Richard gave him a concerned look. “Sorry, sorry, that was dark, I know.”

            Richard pressed his face into Jared’s shoulder and squeezed him a little bit tighter. “It’s okay, baby, don’t worry about it. You’re okay.”

            Jared squeezed back, thinking to himself _I’m okay. This is okay. I deserve this happiness._

If he thought about it, he knew that none of this would have happened if he hadn’t tried to kill himself, but somehow it wasn’t a strange or sad thought. In an odd way, he was grateful for that night and that suicide attempt, because without it, he never would have ended up so happy.


End file.
